The Elephant In The Room
by Runespoor
Summary: Jason and Dick dance around Jason's issues.


**Title:** The Elephant In The Room  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>Summary: <strong>Jason and Dick dance around Jason's issues.

**Notes:** takes place in handwave time around _Under the Hood_.

* * *

><p>Jason let his gaze trot around the big top, leaning ostensibly against one of the poles.<p>

"So this is where little Dickie grew up, huh."

Dick tried to take comfort in the fact that Jason didn't seem immediately interested in blowing the whole circus up, and failed. There was pretty little to be comforted about in the lazy, comfortable way Jason tapped his gun against his arm.

"Yeah," he finally answered. What he really wanted to say was more heavily charged in expletives, but yeah, gun. More to the point, gun Jason kept pointed at Zitka. The elephant was quiet, calmly observing them, swinging her trunk from side to side.

The complete trust in her eyes made Dick hurt. It was the kind of unquestioned matter-of-fact confidence that meant she knew he would never hurt her, never let anyone hurt her, and that same trust encompassed anyone accompanying him.

Dick couldn't be fast enough to make Jason drop the gun before Jason fired – accidentally or not. He could do nothing but wait until the psychotic gun-totting brat decided he'd had enough with fucking with the part of Dick Grayson's life that was clearly _off-limits_.

He kept his breathing steady and told himself that as long as he played along Zitka wasn't at risk. Killing innocents wasn't Jason's M.O.

Except when it was because he deemed it acceptable losses.

Jason looked as relaxed as ever, as if he had the whole night and nothing better to do. And maybe he had. The Red Hood's schedule, or whatever alter ego he went by these days, was anyone's guess. There was only one person alive who could have a chance at predicting his next movements, and _that_wasn't just because Bruce was the world's greatest detective.

Jason was waiting.

Dick forced his shoulders to unclench. There was something unbearably wrong about dragging his life as Nightwing into Haly's Circus, and it was throwing him off his game.

"What do you want, Jason?"

"He ever come here with you?"

In a sense he'd been expecting it, or something like it. Every word out of Jason's mouth seemed to relate to Bruce. It made Dick pity him, when it didn't make Jason scary. In a way he could relate; off the top of his head he couldn't think of one person who hadn't accused him of obsessing over Bruce at one time or another.

On the other hand... on the other hand it struck a little _too far_ from home for comfort. As far as he could remember, Dick had always had things in his life that were _not_about Bruce – the circus and the Titans and Blüdhaven, Babs and Kory. The same for Tim and Barbara and even Cass, who'd at least had her history with her father. When you listened to Jason, you felt like he'd only had Bruce.

"No. This is mine," Nightwing answered. He made a choice. "He's not coming tonight, too."

The red domino emphasized the cocked eyebrow.

"Yeah? This is yours the way Gotham is his? No, you mean more the cave or the alley, right?" He didn't wait for confirmation. Jason had never been subtle, but he'd always been sharp. "Then what's keeping him? I'm sure he must've got the invitation by now."

Jason, you ass, Nightwing didn't say. He also refrained from asking why Jason hadn't yet gone to the Cave. That was a can of worms he had no interest in popping open.

"He hasn't thrown you entirely by the wayside, has he? Or is it one of those times where Daddy's being an asshole?"

Much longer on this train of thought and he'd get upset, Dick could feel it. Upset Jason meant more furious than usual, more unpredictable than usual, more fight-thirsty than usual Jason. For now he was in his usual talkative mood. Since he'd come back from the dead to haunt them in the flesh, Jason seemed to like hearing himself talk. Or at least he liked watching their reactions under his jabs. Wasn't it lucky that Dick was just the other talkative one in the family?

"He's on League business."

He didn't have much hopes that it'd placate him. Truthfully, he didn't think anything short perhaps of Bruce killing the Joker could placate Jason anymore. His anger was like fire; at best it'd lay dormant under reddish coals, threatening to burst into flames at the slightest displacement of air.

There was a beat.

Dick prayed the other didn't take the disappointment so hard that he'd take it out on Zitka.

"Seriously?"

He wasn't sure how to react to the incredulity in Jason's deadpan. But it was so similar to how mystified the rest of them had been when they'd realized helping out the League was becoming, well, normal, that he couldn't bite back the smile.

"Yeah. It's the third time in as many weeks, too."

"Man, they can't do anything without him, can they." Was that — pride? "What suckers." Definitely pride. In a smirk full of teeth and little boy viciousness.

The gun was still not lowered. Now, though, Nightwing was wondering if he'd seize the opportunity to knock the gun out of Jason's hand the moment he relaxed either his attention or his grip, the way he'd been planning to. Somehow their exchange had defused the situation. At some point it had turned into Nightwing indulging Jason.

But the gun was still turned on Zitka's head.

Keep talking.

"You should've seen it three months ago – I think it was three months – they didn't think he was picking up the call fast enough and they had an emergency, so they sent someone."

"Superman," Jason guessed. The smirk curling his lips showed no sign of vanishing.

Nightwing nodded. "Right, Superman. So, Superman arrives, and finds him right in the middle of a situation with Ivy. I don't know the details of how the whole thing went down, but the punch line is that Ivy's pheromones work just fine on Kryptonians."

"Man, he must've been _pissed_." He was practically purring. There was really no wondering which 'he' Jason was thinking about.

"You bet he was," Nightwing agreed. "Ivy got away."

"The League must've had one hell of a shitty night," Jason said with an ugly smile. It lingered a second, and then Jason snapped back to the present. "You don't know why he's over there now, right?"

Dick shrugged. It was a perfunctory question, and Jason's attitude didn't change with the lack of an answer. He wasn't expecting one; it had never been Bruce's style to be generous with info.

"Well I hope it sucks as much for them tonight."

There was a sudden edge to Jason's voice. Dick refrained from wincing. He remembered that Tim had once called Jason's behavior typical middle-child Daddy issues, and Dick had advised him never to let Bruce hear him say that, but plausible obliviousness would be easier if Jason wasn't so _obvious_.

"Must be just your usual emergency," he said. Keep talking. He tried to maintain a pleasant tone, but time was fleeing; soon everyone in the circus would be up and about, and the last thing Dick wanted was to make the situation any more impossible than it was.

But as long as Jason had the gun, it was his call.

Jason, who was silently staring at him, his face wiped of all traces of a smile.

"I'll leave you to it, then," he said brusquely.

In two leaps, he reached the big top's entrance.

Amongst the strange shadows cast by the circus' seats, his face looked fragmented and almost unreal. Dick wasn't sure he'd have been able to read his expression even if it hadn't been.

"Tell him I called," he said, in a flat, cold tone. Then he disappeared.

In the fragile silence left behind, Dick took the steps separating him from Zitka, and put his hand against her skin, taking comfort in the familiar warmth.

"C'mon, girl," he whispered. "Let's just forget about my crazy-ass brother."


End file.
